


Bring Me That Horizon

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Choices, M/M, Male Slash, Music, Reconciliation, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 05:56:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Mark signs another contract with Red Bull, Fernando is furious. It's a long and difficult time before Mark can get him to listen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring Me That Horizon

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the rumours that Webber was going to sign with Ferrari for the 2013 season. The fic title is a line of dialogue that featured in the film _Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse Of The Black Pearl_. Huge thanks and love to gemjam who betaed so speedily and encouraged so sweetly :)
> 
> Also akir4zzzzz has posted a translation of this fic in Chinese [here](http://mycutebrit.lofter.com/post/1d0f462b_64ce7b7)

 

 

Mark’s life was made up of a lot of different soundtracks. Coldplay, Muse, and Keane poured into his ears daily, all that wailing and guitars. He could hear interviewers just fine, he could talk to Christian and Seb and the team, he could drive cars on and off the road, all with that music raw and soothing flowing through him. It kept him on the straight and narrow, fixed on the tarmac twists and the always-too-far-ahead horizon.

 

He'd once told his Mum that he'd catch the horizon one day; he just had to drive fast enough.

 

“And what will you do once you've caught it?” she'd asked.

 

“Tie it round my wrist so I'll go faster, then I'll always win.” had been his reply.

 

She'd laughed and hadn't slapped his hand away when he'd grabbed for a piece of beef jerky.

 

*

 

Fernando wasn't talking to him. He'd shouted when he'd first found out, loud enough that Christian had texted to pointedly remind Mark that the press were not that far away. When Mark had even more pointedly said the same thing to Fernando, Fernando had clenched his jaw, spat something extremely vicious in Spanish, and stormed out. He hadn't left quickly enough though – Mark had seen the extremely raw and tender pain in Fernando's eyes.

 

He wouldn't see it again. Fernando had emphatically worn his professional mask ever since. And he hadn't said another word to Mark, in Spanish or otherwise.

 

*

 

Often Mark had fighting music in his ears. Everything from Rage Against The Machine's fury to System Of A Down's loopy madness. Music he could walk to, one foot in front of the other, conquering mountains and striding through streams. He raised money for charity, exercised his dogs, breathed in cool air, laughed into the mist, all to specific and motivating playlists.

 

He'd been listening to them a lot lately.

 

*

 

Fernando wasn't taking his calls. Mark called him a couple of times a day; he got voicemail every time. He left messages. He apologised for snapping so harshly, but reminded the Spaniard that Christian had had a point – the press shouldn’t overhear such personal conversations. Some things were private for a reason.

 

He didn't apologise for re-signing with Red Bull Racing. Because it had been the right choice.

 

*

 

Folk music made him think of his Mum. The complex guitar parts and sometimes gentle voices. That was her all over. He listened to those playlists when he was making dinner, when the world felt quieter or needed to be. Sometimes listening to that music led to him calling his Mum, just to hear her voice, to reassure them both.

 

His Mum rarely asked why he was calling. She knew when he needed pushing.

 

“Talk to him, Mark.”

 

“Tried that. He's not talking back.”

 

“That doesn't mean he isn't listening.” He could hear the dinged old family kettle whistling in his Mum's kitchen. In his mind's eye, he could see how the steam looked against the window and hear how his mother's bracelets rattled as she poured the hot water. “You could use that horizon right about now.”

 

Mark snorted. “Yeah, as a lasso to keep him lashed in place and to pin back his ears.”

 

“Whatever works.”

 

Mark laughed at the smile in her voice and turned the folk music up as he ended the call. He loved his Mum.

 

*

 

There weren't any playlists for when he was thinking about Fernando, because he was thinking about Fernando most of the time. The Spaniard knew that he was beautiful and was used to people responding accordingly. But Mark had never given him any special treatment, and that had always driven Fernando a little crazy. It also drew him to Mark and that was extremely satisfying. He might not show it publicly, but Mark thought about Fernando a lot.

 

Some songs wended their way in and attached themselves to his Fernando thoughts. There was something about certain turns of phrase, certain guitar parts, drum beats, and horn blasts that brought Fernando brilliantly to mind.

 

Tonight was one of those nights. Mark poured himself a beer, closed his eyes, and listened. Part of his insides ached in response. He was never ashamed to say it when he left daily messages on Fernando's voicemail – he missed him.

 

He missed him a lot.

 

He had an idea.

 

*

 

Sebastian frowned when he saw Mark calling Fernando again. Mark shook his head in reply. Sebastian didn't understand Fernando's reasoning either. He and Jenson chose again and again not to race on the same team; it was what worked perfectly for them. Like all drivers, they were fiercely competitive and had no problem with facing each other out on the track. Mark and Fernando didn't have a problem with that either.

 

But being rivals on the same team – because teammates were definitely rivals, for resources, recognition, and attention – was more personal and more damaging. Mark didn't want to go through that with Fernando.

 

Sebastian understood perfectly and bought Mark a sympathy drink the next time the team went out to celebrate a podium. Mark tried not to achingly tense too much as he watched Jenson sling a happy arm around Sebastian, two people completely content with their places in life, as they raced for the horizon, both together and apart.

 

*

 

Mark employed help. At least one mechanic or engineer from Red Bull knew someone at Ferrari and that meant access to Fernando's things. By the time the next practice session began, an iPod had been smuggled into Fernando's bag.

 

It didn't take long for Fernando to march over.

 

He glared. Mark brushed against his shoulder and kept his hands to himself. One of his earbuds was still jammed into his ear.

 

Fernando crossed his arms. “You clog my voicemail.”

 

“Yep.”

 

Such short unexplained answers always frustrated Fernando, and yes, there was the flush of annoyance creeping up his face now as his hands clenched. Mark watched keenly. Fernando didn't pout, but his expression was definitely twisting into something interesting. Mark had done that. He hoped to do more.

 

“And this music. You say is answers, is you?” Fernando waved the iPod between them.

 

Mark nodded. The iPod was packed with music, with the passionate musical phrases that made him think of Fernando. Fernando hadn't been taking his calls, so Mark had found another way to talk to him. Mark smiled at the thought. His Mum’s reaction to this was going to be pretty fun. Especially because he could blame her for it.

 

Fernando was looking at him carefully now, like he was trying to peel away Mark’s expression in order to find some answers underneath. Something warm and satisfied slid through Mark. His hands itched to cup Fernando’s face, to slide across that perfect mouth, to thumb that strong jaw. Mark’s fingers twitched. Fernando smirked, just a little. No doubt he’d caught Mark’s tell and was extremely pleased about it.

 

Mark took the opportunity to lean closer, as though to make himself heard in the noisy garage. He breathed in Fernando’s distinctive smell of expensive aftershave, warm sun, and always that hint of Ferrari’s car interiors. Fernando stilled but he didn’t move away.

 

“This wouldn’t be this if we were teammates.”

 

Mark let the careful words hang there. Then he slid a hand down Fernando’s shoulder to his waist and briefly squeezed. Fernando was still watching him intently, but there was a quickness to his breathing now that said he was definitely affected by Mark’s deliberate closeness. Good.

 

Mark squashed his urge to crush Fernando closer and to greedily take him apart. For a start, the Red Bull garage was definitely the wrong place to do it.

 

He made sure to catch Fernando’s gaze head-on, so that Fernando saw every piece of the need and heat in Mark’s expression. “I’ll order in later.”

 

Fernando stared for a moment more, his jaw tense. Then he nodded jerkily and opened his mouth, but his cellphone bleeped and a shout matched it from the nearby Ferrari garage.

 

Fernando brushed past Mark. Their arms firmly touched. Mark grinned and rattled off a quick text message to his Mum.

 

_You were right_

 

Later, he and Fernando talked and talked and both made themselves clear and understood without too much shouting. Then they spent an extremely satisfying and desperately loud few hours in Mark’s bedroom together, before he checked his phone and found a reply.

 

_Enjoy the horizon_

 

**-the end**


End file.
